"The sunshine? What sunshine? It's in Cascadia."
"You were misinformed."

I'm home after an extended weekend remix in the Emerald City (assume bankrupt pants). I went west with Madrona-bound fiber folk. While they took classes in Tacoma I cat-sat in a downtown apartment in Seattle, enjoying shiny places and tasty food. It was fantastic to go outside without freezing, wonderful to move around without impediment. Seattle has plenty of hills but with an Orca card in hand the city was accessible even to my still-congested and limping self.

While the NE was suffering through yet another fuckwinter of snow on top of more snow with arctic cold in-between, the PNW was warm (high 50's - low 60's Fahrenheit) and largely sunny. From what I can tell, February there is about like April here; the crocuses and witch-hazel were ending, the cherry blossoms and azaleas just starting. I took a walk through the tree museum and got mud on my pants cuffs. How novel!

Despite decades of visits and my family all having moved there there, California has never called me as a place to live. I think Seattle might. It has lots of what I love: both ocean and mountains near by, not too hot, on the western edge of its time zone, and a culture that feels unpretentious. I've never been made to feel unwelcome in a coffee-house or restaurant, and strangers talk to me who are just being friendly. Yes, there are homeless folk who ask for money, but so far no one's thrown insults or garbage.

Between being sick for weeks with the Cold from Hell and the endless snow I've barely gotten out of the house this year. In Seattle I went out every day and walked around enough to hurt myself, which has sadly been my pattern in recent years. I try to become more active, injure myself, and then take a long time to not quite recover. Each iteration leaves me able to do less and less.

It's time to stop telling myself lies about how I'll feel better later. All evidence points to my physical condition deteriorating at an ever-increasing rate and I don't think I can take these kinds of winters any more. Without frotz I'd have to hire the snow-clearing done, in line behind everyone else and likely trapped for days. I went west with him this time specifically so that, unlike the past two years, I wouldn't be stuck at home alone for a week overwhelmed by snow I can't move.

(No health advice or platitudes please, nor stories of how physically awesome you or other people "my age" are; I'm well-aware. I'm not one of the success stories; we can't all be winners.)

My five-year plan is still to fix up the house and do a bunch of traveling while I still can, but in the longer term relocating to the west coast is looking better and better. Even if I don't make it it's nice to have a goal.